(Photo: Angiola Harry on Unsplash)
It did not matter that
The evidence was there for all
To see.
The crumbs.
The chocolate stains.
The broken shards of Nana’s cookie
Jar with
That crack from when Pawpaw drank
Too much and thought he was a
Knife thrower
But missed
The block.
It didn’t matter she was
Caught.
The child was
Unrepentant.
“Cookies are for eatin’, Nana.
No good letting them go stale
In that
Pot!”
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt of: Unrepentant in 69 words
It had been extremely close quarters, but after the inferno they’d been through together, there was nothing they could not achieve.
Certainly after they’d had a bit of time to chill.
They were born for this.
Now it was their time to sparkle.
To show off their individuality.
In form.
In shape.
In size.
In decoration.
There they were:
Blue-eyed Ginger.
Two-tone-shoes Jerry.
Red-apron Ginny.
Necklaced Joey.
Snow-mustached Joe.
Green-turbaned Jinge.
Even Ginger-woof put on his finery.
(And, albeit grudgingly, Gin-Cat did so, too).
It was, after all, the grand finale.
The full bling dress-up for the big chomp.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt © Jennifer Pendergast
Photo: Izabelle Acheson on Unsplash
She will not elucidate.
She won’t expound.
She won’t make plain.
There is, in her view, absolutely
Nothing she needs to
Explain.
There is the plate.
There are the cookies.
There was her mouth to entertain.
So, what does any of that
Have to do with dinner
Or with waiting for dessert
Again?
Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor
Roll the dough
And aim to shape it.
Press chocolate pieces
One by one.
‘Tis no product of
Machine identical,
But cookies proud
Of a child’s hand.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Roll
Photo by Cook Eat on Pexels.com
It is the cookie that she wants
No teddy bear, no owl, no bunny.
It is the cookie that she holds
In hand, not in her tummy.
She takes it with her to the park
She holds it all through bedtime story.
She’d bring it right into the bath
To her it’s mandatory.
Her mother sighs
Because she knows:
It is the cookie that will crumble
All over blanket, sheets, and pillow.
The cookie that she’ll have to pry the last remains of
From her child’s hand tomorrow.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
“Now it’s my turn to ask you a question,” she said. “And you have to answer.”
“Fair enough,” I smiled. After all, I’d just subjected this child to a long list of questions to which she had to respond.
“What if,” she began, twinkle-eyed, “you had only one cookie, but you needed to share it with fifty kids?”
“Hmm …” I pondered. “That’s a tough one. One cookie only?”
“Yep!” She raised her eyebrows in satisfaction at what had to be my stupefied expression.
“Can I hand out something else instead?” I bargained.
“Nope. One cookie, fifty kids.” The eight-year-old was utterly too pleased with herself.
I smelled a rat but I wasn’t going to show it. She’d earned this after soldiering on through the difficult portions of the testing battery. “I give up.” I raised my hands in surrender. “I don’t see how I can split one cookie between fifty kids.”
“I never said how big the cookie had to be, did I?” she chortled. “If you have a gigantic humongous cookie it would be easy peasy to have everyone share it!”
For Cee’s Share Your World June-18-2018
Photo: Atara Katz
He shook his head
At jam and bread
Objected to any other
Kind of spread
And lectured mommy
From his seat
That cookie’s the only
Thing to eat.
For The Daily Post
“It wasn’t me!”
The potbellied cookie-jar was stranded sideways on the kitchen floor amidst small mountains of spilled cookies in various states of broken. The jar’s lid wobbled under a chair a few feet away.
I looked at the small face, cherubic auburn curls surrounding dimpled cheeks. The forcefulness of the denial belied the crumbs around the lips, the sticky hands, the guilty blue-gray eyes.
“It wasn’t, eh?” I worked to keep my eyebrows in line.
The preschooler squirmed but didn’t fold. She shook her head emphatically, looked around, and tapped her lower lip with a (suspiciously chocolatey) finger.
An idea dawned into her face and she pointed said finger at the aquarium where three goldfish lazed. “They did it!”
My eyebrows escaped. “The fish?!”
A wholehearted nod. She was warming to the thought. “Yeah! They don’t like fish food every day every day anymore … and … and … it the fish birthday …” she swung her finger from one idle swimmer to the next. “Um, this one! See? He didn’t even want fish food for his birthday!”
(Thank you, A.J.!)
For The Daily Post
tucked away in the mountains
History of the Bloomingdale area on Manhattan's Upper West Side
A creative miscellany of mythic fantasies
a weekly flash fiction prompt inspired by google maps
A community for writers to learn, grow, and connect.
To participate in the Ragtag Daily Prompt, create a Pingback to your post, or copy and paste the link to your post into the comments. And while you’re there, why not check out some of the other posts too!
Alternative haven for the Daily Post's mourners!
never judge a girl by her weight
original fiction and rhyme
Taotalk is a forum for the discussion of both the academic and pragmatic aspects of dao and Daoism, with participants expressing themselves on Daoist writings and pragmatics from their unique perspectives. It serves as a community for Daoists, and those interested in Daoism, to gather and talk dao.
A photographer's view of the world - words and images to inspire your travels and your dreams
Life in progress
Straight up with a twist– Because life is too short to be subtle!
WordPress & Blogging tips, flash fiction, photography and lots more!
Better Living Through Beauty, Wisdom and Whimsey
Life in a flash - a weekly writing blog
Na'ama Yehuda 
You must be logged in to post a comment.